


Thanksgiving

by FanficAllergy



Series: Patchwork - 50 Theme Challenge [15]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Effie wears the pants in that relationship, F/M, Fluff, Food Porn, Holidays, Hunters & Hunting, Implied Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket, Katniss feels sorry for herself, POV Katniss Everdeen, Peeta is supportive, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Dinner, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 05:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2681042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficAllergy/pseuds/FanficAllergy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss isn't sure she wants anything to do with this new holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Trilogy is property of Suzanne Collins. This is a parody fanwork by fans for fans. No money was made off of the creation of this fanwork.

**oOo**

**Title:** Thanksgiving  
**Theme:** 33: Celebration - Also counts toward my trope bingo amnesty trope prompt of HolidayFic.  
**Words:** 4362  
**Summary:**    Katniss isn't sure she wants anything to do with this new holiday.

 

**oOo**

 

 

I don't remember whose idea it was. It might have been Effie with her love of history and pomp and tradition or it might have been Delly with her cheerful outlook and all-encompassing optimism. All I know is that at some point I got volunteered to get the turkeys.

 

The idea was simple. A feast celebrating making it through another year before the snows of winter fell and everyone stayed inside. A thanksgiving of sorts.

 

Peeta loved the idea, naturally. Celebrating life with food appealed to his nurturing nature. Haymitch didn't care. He claimed he had no interest in attending and would only go if forced. Effie smiled that little smile of hers and told him he was forced. Most of Twelve fell in behind the celebration. Feasts were rare in Twelve and rarer still in Thirteen. The idea of celebrating something, anything, appealed to them.

 

I hate it.

 

I don't have anything to be thankful for. Losing Prim. Losing Finnick. Winning the war. The whole concept tastes like ashes in my mouth.

 

Still, for Peeta's sake, I'll do it. I'll go out into the woods and rustle up some turkeys. Why turkey and not deer or other meat I don't know and I didn't really care. Effie babbled on about how it was traditional, but I feel that if you're going to be thankful for something you should be thankful for what you've got and not be picky about it.

 

But what do I know?

 

Preparations started early with a planned celebration date of October Fifteenth. Any later and we risk snow ruining Effie and Delly's plans. Villagers ventured out into the woods to collect bushels of apples, crabapples, grapes, and pears. Peeta ordered sack upon sack of flour and grain and sugar. When Annie and my mother found out, they sent bags of herb infused sea salt to use for seasoning as well as tins of canned fish and other Four delicacies. Effie ordered vegetables and fruits from Eleven and Nine. But everyone was watching me expectantly, waiting for me to provide the turkeys.

 

The new butcher, Tamsin, had a few chickens set aside in case I couldn't deliver, but Delly, Effie, and Peeta kept telling her that they wouldn't be necessary. That I would pull through in the end.

 

I don't want to pull through. I want to curl up in bed and ignore the whole thing until it's over.

 

Peeta, naturally, won't let me.

 

"It will be good for you to see everyone happy," he tells me one morning.

 

I grunt and roll over, pulling the covers tighter around me.

 

He still doesn't give up. "It's not about the food, if that's what's bothering you. I think this celebration is about being grateful for what we have."

 

"But I'm not," I mutter, refusing to roll over.

 

"You're not what?"

 

"Grateful for what I have." I refuse to elaborate. I don't want to tell him that I'm afraid I'll feel guilty for celebrating life when so many people have died already. That I'm still angry about Prim dying. That I still can't forgive myself for living when she died. I don't talk to Dr. Aurelius about what I'm feeling and I don't want to burden Peeta with my problems. I just want to stuff them in a box and pretend they don't exist. I think I'm getting better, so long as I don't have to face the reality that my sister is gone and I'm not.  

 

Peeta sits down on the bed behind me and starts rubbing my back. I know that he wants to be understanding, to be supportive. But I don't want that. I just want at this very moment to wallow in my misery until it consumes me. "I have cheese buns downstairs for when you want to get up."

 

I grunt and burrow deeper into the covers. Not even the promise of cheese buns can lure me out of my bed.

 

Except that they do. A few minutes later the smell of toasted cheese, yeast, and roasted herbs reaches my nostrils. Faintly at first, and then more insistently until my stomach growls in protest. I know my stomach is going to win this argument before it even starts, but I try to ignore the rioting organ for as long as I can.

 

When I get downstairs, I find Peeta waiting for me with his jacket on.

 

I sit down at the kitchen counter. "What are you doing?" I ask snagging a bun and taking a bite. The flavor of herbs and fresh goat cheese explode over my tongue and I struggle to keep myself from bolting the rest of it down.

 

"I'm going with you," he says as if he joins me in the woods every day.

 

"No, you're not. I'm not going."

 

"Okay," he says calmly.

 

I blink. "Okay?"

 

"Okay," he repeats. Then adds, "If you don't want to go, you don't have to. I'm not about to force you to do something you don't want to do."

 

"But you want this," I say, confused.

 

Peeta nods his head and offers me another cheese bun, which I take. "I do."

 

"Then why?"

 

"Why what?"

 

"Why do you want this so much? Why aren't you putting up more of a fight? Just why?"

 

He laughs and comes over to sit next to me.

 

I scowl at him and bite at my cheese bun angrily.

 

"I'm not laughing at you, Katniss," he tells me. "It's just I'm happy. You make me happy. Even when you're grumpy and annoyed and acting more stubborn than Effie with a schedule, you make me happy. And I'm just so grateful that you're willing to put up with me, that I'm alive." He reaches out to take one of my hands and squeezes it gently. "That you're alive. That I want to show the world, to show everyone, that they didn't win. They might have beat us up and left us with scars but they didn't win. We're still here and we're now able to live our lives on our terms." He regards me intently and I'm unable to look away. "If that means that you don't want to do this, then I accept that because me being able to live my life according to my terms means that you get to do the same. I can ask you to do things. I can explain why I want them, but at the end of the day it's your choice. It's always going to be your choice."

 

I understand the underlying meaning in that last statement. I know Peeta wants to get married, that he wants kids, but I don't.   It's only been a year since we moved in together. We're still getting used to each other.

 

Maybe in the future...

 

I don't let myself finish the thought.

 

I stuff the rest of the cheese bun in my mouth. "So you won't be upset if I don't get the turkeys?" I ask with my mouth full.

 

"We'll find something else," he tells me.

 

It's not an answer to my question, but then again he doesn't really need to answer it. I know he'll be disappointed, but that's not what he's trying to tell me. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I can disappoint someone if I want to and no one will die or be injured if I do. It's my choice.

 

I grab another cheese bun and slowly pick at it, taking a piece and smooshing it between my fingers before eating it. "I don't want turkey," I say after several long minutes. Turkeys are bad luck in my eyes. A turkey was the reason Gale was whipped. I'd killed a turkey the night before my sister was reaped for the Hunger Games and I volunteered to take her place. The final meal my father ate was leftover turkey. I associate turkey with everything I've lost and everything that's gone wrong in my life, and I can't even bear to eat it any more.

 

 

"So what do you want?" he asks, completely unfazed at my non sequitur.

 

I haven't really thought about it. I just know I don't want turkey. I give the question some serious thought. What do I want? I think about all of the food I had in the Capitol and all of my favorite meals growing up. None of it seems right. I shrug. I know I'm not being helpful.

 

Peeta sighs. "Let me know when you do, okay? I'll talk to Effie and we can try to get it imported."

 

"I'm sorry, Peeta," I say.

 

He regards me solemnly, then reaches out to put an arm around me, pulling me close.

 

I lean against him, reveling in his solid warmth. It's one of my favorite things about being with him. One of many.

 

"So, want to go for a walk? We're both dressed for it," he asks me after a time.

 

I nod. A walk sounds good.

 

Peeta gets his walking stick and I grab my bow. Even though I have no intention of hunting, it's better to be prepared. There are still wild dogs and bears in the woods and with the fence still unrepaired from after the bombing they come into the village sometimes.

 

I take Peeta's hand when we get outside and he smiles at me.

 

We walk together, hand in hand, through the Victor's Village and past the newly built Twelve. The leaves are starting to turn and are painting the land in a sunset of reds, oranges, and golds.

 

I lead Peeta to the lake, my father's lake, knowing he hasn't been before. It's always been my spot, mine and my father's. I never even shared it with Gale.

 

When we get there, the sun is still high in the bright blue autumn sky. The water is still. So still that it reflects the surrounding trees on its surface.

 

Peeta gasps and moves forward to sit on one of the large rocks along the edge of the lake. "Katniss, this place is amazing." He takes in the still water that's almost the color of ink and the ring of trees surrounding us. Bright green reeds poke through the water and all around us is the sound of birdsong. He breathes deeply and I watch as tension I didn't even realize he had falls away.

 

This. This moment right here with Peeta. This I'm thankful for.

 

Above me I hear the honking call of geese as they make their migration south. I remember that the one time my father managed to kill one of the birds he traded it for the soft red checked fabric that my mother made into my dress for the first day of school. It was the only time I had clothing that wasn't second hand or cut down from some other garment.

 

"I think I know what I want, Peeta," I say softly.

 

He turns and looks at me, the question in his eyes.

 

I don't answer in words. Instead I point overhead to the V of birds.

 

He smiles and nods, shifting carefully on the rock so he won't make any sound.

 

I grasp my bow more firmly and pull out an arrow, slipping closer to the edge of the water. I know from experience that most waterfowl like to land on calm lakes to rest and refuel. The first flock of geese flies over the lake, but where there's one flock, there'll be others.

 

Less than a half an hour later, the sound of honking fills the air, this time louder than the last. They're lower than the earlier flock. It's a good sign.

 

The honking grows louder and louder until I spot them just above the treeline to my left. The flock is coming in for a landing.

 

Slowly, so as not to startle them, I nock my arrow and take aim. I'm going to have to be quick if I want to get more than one bird.

 

I track the lead bird as it just skims the surface of the water and, with a puff of breath, fire.  

 

I don't wait to see if I've hit my target, I'm pulling another arrow from my quiver. My eyes find another bird and shoot.

 

The birds let out several panicked squawks and flap their wings trying to escape. In the chaos, I manage to loose another arrow and a third bird splashes down into the water. What's left of the flock flees and I pause to take a breath.

I did it. I killed three geese.

 

Peeta stands up and grins at me. "That was amazing, Katniss! Three of them. Just woosh! Woosh! Woosh! And they're down!"

 

"You've always known I could shoot. You even told Haymitch about it."

 

"Yeah, but I've never seen it. Not really. The Games don't count. This. This was incredible!"

 

I look at Peeta then out at the three bodies floating in the water. "Yeah, well, now I need to go get them." I make a face. It isn't going to be fun. The air's chilly and the water will be worse. I place my bow and arrows on a fallen tree and start to unbutton my jacket. "Do you think you can make a small fire?" I ask Peeta.

 

"Of course, but why?"

 

"I'm going to need the warmth after I go get the geese."

 

He looks at the three dead fowl and then back at me. "You don't need to do that, Katniss. Not if it's going to put you in danger."

 

I continue to undress. "I'll be fine. Just have the fire ready for me."

 

"I don't want to risk losing you."

 

I pause, now dressed only in my shirt. There's something in his voice. Something that makes me look at him.

 

He's paler than normal and I can see him clutching his walking stick so tightly that his knuckles are white. I've seen this before. He's on the edge of an episode.

 

I stop what I'm doing and go over to him. Taking his head in my hands, I tell him firmly, "You're not going to lose me. I'm right here. The geese aren't that far out, I'm just going to be cold when I get out of the water. I've done this before. I'll be fine. What you think might happen, it's not real." He blinks at me and takes a shuddering breath so I continue, "Feel my hands. They're real. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. We need the meat for this thanksgiving thing you and Effie and Delly are planning. Let me do this for you."

 

He drops his walking stick and reaches up with both hands to grasp my waist.

 

I pull him closer and feel him wrap his arms around me. I stroke his back, neck and hair, all the while humming softly under my breath. Just a few hours ago he was coaxing me out of my depression and now I'm helping him through a flashback because that's what we do. We help each other even though we're both equally broken.

 

I don't know how long we stand together like that, not too long, before he draws back. "I'm sorry," he mumbles.

 

"Are you going to be okay?"

 

He nods. "Yeah. I'll go get that firewood now."

 

He picks up his walking stick and shambles off into the woods. I watch him disappear into the trees before taking off my shirt and wading into the lake to retrieve my kills.

 

The water is colder than I thought it'd be and I'm shivering by the time I reach the first goose. I toss it closer to shore to pick up on my way back in and keep going. The water reaches my mid-thigh and I feel the muck ooze through my toes and up to my ankles as I make my way to the second bird. Again, I toss it closer to shore: no point carrying around a wet, cold carcass if I don't have to.

 

The third bird is the furthest out. The water slips over my hips and up to my shoulders before the bottom gives way entirely. I swim out to the goose, my teeth chattering.

 

I grab it and start the swim back to shore. It's tough going. The cold water is seeping all of the strength from my limbs and my heart is fluttering almost painfully in my chest. Every few strokes, I pause to feel for the bottom. I know if I can just find my footing that I'll be okay.

 

I finally feel my feet slip through the muck on the bottom and I swim a few more strokes until I know I can actually reach solid ground. I'm so cold that I'm starting to lose feeling in my feet and hands, but I keep moving forward. I know Peeta's on the beach. I know he's worried. I have to make it. For him.

 

I push myself forward, feeling the water slowly fall from my neck to my shoulders and down. The air is cold, but I'm grateful that there isn't any wind. Along the edge of the shore, I can see Peeta crouched down next to a small fire. He's got my clothes spread out so that they can be heated by the flames. He's also taken off his jacket and removed his flannel shirt although I'm not sure why.

 

The water is at my knees and I grab the two birds I threw closer to shore. Their wet bodies do nothing to keep the cold out.

 

"P-P-Peeta?" I call through chattered teeth.

 

He stands up, taking several steps toward the water.

 

"N-no. St-stay there," I tell him. "D-don't get w-wet."

 

He frowns but doesn't enter the water. Instead, he comes up to the very edge of the lake, holding his flannel shirt in his hand.

 

I will myself to walk the last few feet without collapsing. I'm so cold, but the allure of the fire and warm clothes spurs me on. I finally exit the water, dropping the birds to the ground.

 

Peeta leaps into action, wrapping his shirt around me and sweeping me off my feet to carry me to the fire.

 

I burrow into his shirt, feeling the warmth from both the fire and Peeta himself. The shirt smells of him, of yeast and bread and the masculine scent of his sweat.   He snags his jacket with his foot and drags it in front of the fire. Then he carefully lowers me to the ground, settling himself behind me.

 

Between Peeta and the fire, I start to feel better. When my feet dry, I pull my socks on, then my underwear and pants. Peeta reaches over and hands me my undershirt and button down top.

 

"Can I just wear your shirt?" I ask, my voice more plaintive than I want.

 

He chuckles and I can feel it through my back. "Sure. But it's wet and these are dry."

 

"I d-don't care," I say, annoyed that my shivering is still causing me to stutter a little. "It smells like you."

 

"Katniss," he hisses. His voice is filled with something else -- lust.

 

I turn around so I can face him. The sun is starting to dip on the horizon and we should go before it gets dark.

 

It still doesn't stop me from kissing him.

 

His lips are warm against my cold ones and I slip my hands around his neck.

 

He shivers against me, I don't know if it's from lust or the cold, but he doesn't stop kissing me. His hands slip under the shirt I'm wearing, his shirt, to trace gentle patterns along my sides and back.

 

I know he wants to go further but he's waiting for me to give permission. He always does. It's one more thing I love about him. He only wants what I'm willing to give and he never takes my consent for granted.

 

I want to go further. But I know we need to go. The geese need to be cleaned and it's starting to get dark. Reluctantly, I pull away. "We should get home."

 

"We should."

 

"I don't want to go," I admit.

 

He kisses me briefly. "I don't want to either."

 

Still, we do. I make sure the fire is put out while Peeta strings the geese together to make them easier to carry. Each bird weighs about fifteen pounds and Peeta insists on carrying all three.

 

I want to argue, but I know that it'll make Peeta happy to think he's helping me. It isn't worth the fight.

 

Peeta and I take the birds to Tamsin's. The butcher can clean and defeather the geese. She takes them with a bemused smile. "I'm guessing no turkey?"

 

"No turkey," Peeta says before I can. "These should still work and I bet they'd taste great with some apple and rosemary stuffing."

 

The butcher considers it. She was from Ten before the war. The woman knows her meat and no meat is too lowly for her to use. She reminds me of Greasy Sae in that way. Except where Sae makes stew, Tamsin makes sausage. Naturally she and Sae get along famously and the two are talking about setting up an eatery where Sae cooks and Tamsin does what she calls charcuterie.

 

"I think I'll smoke one of these and save the other two for roasting," she says after a bit. "You gonna have everything ready in two days?"

 

I've forgotten the new holiday is so soon. I've lost track of time.

 

Peeta hasn't and says, "Most of my stuff will be ready tomorrow and I'll bring it over tomorrow night."

 

"Delly, Elmer, and Hazelle are going to start bringing the sides over the morning of and me and Thom will be lowering the side of beef into the pit tomorrow afternoon," she tells Peeta.

 

"Beef?" I ask, confused. "I thought we were only having the birds?"

 

Tamsin laughs. "We got sixty people coming to this holiday thing. Three birds ain't gonna be enough for sixty people. I wanted to roast a pig, but Delly kiboshed that idea."

 

I'm suddenly grateful to the overly cheerful blond girl. I haven't been able to eat or smell roast pork since what happened in the Capitol. It reminds me of the smell of burnt human flesh.

 

I glance over at Peeta and see that he's having the same thoughts as me. I take his hand and give it a quick squeeze to remind him that I'm here. We both have too many scars and burns to ever be able to stand that smell again.

 

"We should go," I tell the woman.

 

Peeta picks up the thread. "Katniss needs to take a hot bath and get changed." He motions to my still wet braid. "She had to go swimming to get the birds."

 

"Well, thank you," the butcher says to me. "You take good care of her, Mellark. We don't need our best hunter coming down with the sniffles."

 

Peeta's hand on my arm stops me from snapping at the woman. I know better than anyone the chance I took to get the geese and I know what hypothermia does more than this butcher from Ten.

 

I turn and leave, without saying goodbye, leaving Peeta to cover for me. I don't care if it's rude, I've reached my limit. I make a beeline for the bathroom when I get home and the large bathtub within. Peeta's tub is larger than the one in my house, probably to accommodate his leg, and can easily fit two.

 

I run the water and pour in the lightly perfumed foaming oil Effie gave me from the Capitol. It's a luxury I don't typically indulge in. I prefer showers and the simple lavender soap my mother makes and sends to me from Four.

 

When the water is high enough, I strip out of my clothes and get in. The warm water burns a bit on my cold skin, but I can feel the unmistakable tingling feeling letting me know that I'm starting to warm up. I turn off the faucet and lean back, enjoying the warmth.

  
From downstairs, I hear the front door open and shut and Peeta call out, "Katniss?"

 

"I'm in the bath," I answer.

 

I hear him stump up the stairs until he's outside of the door. "Can I get you anything?" he asks.

 

I glance around the room and note that I forgot to get a change of clothes. I could ask him to get something for me, but clean clothes aren't what I want right now. "You could join me," I say.

 

He opens the door slightly, but not enough to see into the room. "Katniss?"

 

"Come in and join me, Peeta," I repeat.

 

The look on his face as he opens the door all the way tells me that I made the right choice.

 

**oOo**

 

Two days later, all sixty residents of Twelve are seated around three large tables laden with food. Before we eat, we're all supposed to stand up and say what we're thankful for.

 

Without being asked, I take the lead.

 

I meet Peeta's eyes and with every bit of emotion in my heart I say, "I'm thankful each and every day for Peeta Mellark. Without him, this world wouldn't be worth living in and I wouldn't be here."

 

Peeta stands up and comes over to capture my lips with his. The kiss is tender, loving, and I feel that spread of warmth coming from my heart as it deepens.

 

He pulls away and murmurs. "I'm so thankful I have you, Katniss Everdeen. Every minute of every day I'm thankful I fell in love with you all those years ago. Do you think, maybe, one day you'd be willing to be my wife?"

 

"Yes," I say simply and without hesitation.

 

All around us, the citizens of Twelve break out into cheers and catcalls. I ignore them.

  
The brilliant smile on Peeta's face is the only thing I see.

 

"You said yes. Real or not real?"

 

I give him another kiss and whisper against his lips. "Real."

 

**oOo**

**Author's Note:**

> AN:
> 
> Written: 11/21/14  
> Revised: 11/27/14  
> Beta Read by RoseFyre
> 
> Ugh... I just can't even. I started this fic on November 1 and it took me all freaking month to get it out. I'd had the idea floating in my head for almost a year, but I'd never gotten it down. I'm still not happy with it but this is what you're going to get.
> 
> I debated writing smut for this (hello, bathroom sex) but I decided since this is in a collection on FF.net and that most of the rest of the fics in the series are VERY firmly in the K+ or T category that I didn't want to up the rating to M just for one fic. 
> 
> Thanksgiving in Panem is more in line for when Canadian Thanksgiving is. It has more to do with the weather since you can and do get snow early in the mountains and I see District Twelve as being in the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania/West Virginia/Maryland.
> 
> Let me know what you think!
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving Everyone!


End file.
